


love is a battlefield

by spookyfoot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Post Season 7, alternate universe where matt doesn't cut his hair, keith with a braid, soft sheiths, that tag is important to me even though he's not in the fic, who loves who more: keith vs. shiro edition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:46:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: In which gift giving is the new Olympic sport.There are lists and guides and endless articles of advice, but, shockingly, none of them cover what to get the person who you’re willing to die for. Who you almost died with. It’s something that’s just a little beyond the scope of what a tie or a vial of cologne can convey, and even if it could, Keith doubts it would be enough.That’s the problem: nothing is.





	love is a battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> written for the new beginnings zine discord's secret santa, this is for wonderkya, whose prompt was : "Keith tries to offer his present to Shiro... This year he's the one who will cover him with gifts... Or so he thought!"

Shiro’s given him so much. Getting here has been a journey, to say the least, but they’re happy and fulfilled and they have one another. It’s been a year of nights curled up at one another's sides, a year of drowsy half-dreamed kisses and the pressure of arms folded around his waist. 

A year full of the way Shiro’s forelock falls over his forehead when he steps out of the shower, of the way his muscles clench beneath Keith’s roaming fingers, of the way salt tastes on his skin when he’s flushed and panting.

It’s been amazing.

Gift shopping is not. 

There are lists and guides and endless articles of advice, but, shockingly, none of them cover what to get the person who you’re willing to die for. Who you almost died with. It’s something that’s just a little beyond the scope of what a tie or a vial of cologne can convey, and even if it could, Keith doubts it would be enough. 

That’s the problem: nothing is. 

Keith is upfront about most things; which means a. that he knows he may be just a  _ little bit _ competitive about getting Shiro the perfect gift and b. that he just outright asked Shiro what he wanted. Which ends up doing fuck all because Shiro told him  _ don’t get me anything, all I want is you _ . And Keith can admit that that’s incredibly sweet, but Shiro can have Keith anytime, any day he wants. Multiple times if he wants it. 

The point is that Keith wants to give Shiro something special. Something personal. Something that’s not only special and personal but that’s actually worthy of Shiro, an order so tall it might as well be measured by the distance between Earth and the other end of the universe. 

Because Keith wants to show Shiro how much he loves him. The problem is: how. 

Keith’s seen way too much space magic bullshit so the fact a solution hasn’t just…appeared after six straight hours of shopping is something the universe has to answer for. 

“Can we go? We’ve been here forever,” Lance whines.

“I’m not done,” Keith says, staring at a wall of ties. A couple of them look like they’d strangle you if you knotted them wrong. But some people are into that. 

_ Is Shiro into that? _

They’ve been together a year but who’s Keith to say Shiro’s not hiding a few kinks? 

No. Focus.

“Keith. This is the second time we’ve been in this store,” Lance says. He’s sprawled out on one of the plush couches the stores keep for weary shoppers who just want to go home. He’s doing his best to fit the part.

“I still haven’t found anything for Shiro.” 

“Has Shiro ever even worn a tie?” Lance says.

“Twice,” Keith replies without hesitation.

“ _ Twice. _ ” Lance just looks at him. “Why are we even looking at ties if he never wears them?” Lance thinks about that for a moment and his face shifts.“You know what? Nevermind.” 

“Did you ask Shiro what he wants?” Hunk asks. He’s also splayed across the couch, looking at Keith upside down.

“ _ Yes.” _

A month ago. And two weeks ago. And last night.

“And?” Hunk asks, turning over. 

“He said  _ all I want is you _ .” 

“Wow,” Hunk says, “that’s so sweet I feel a little sick. And I cried at Slav’s wedding.” 

“It’s also incredibly unhelpful,” Keith says, weighing a tie in each hand. He lets them fall back to the rack with a sigh. “Come on, this is pointless.” 

“ _ Finally _ ,” Lance says. 

“I thought we’d been trapped in some kind of tie purgatory,” Hunk says. “So much silk and imitation velvet and whatever that…weird glowy fabric was.” 

They make their way back to the Garrison like that, Hunk and Lance arguing over the flammability of extraterrestrial textiles, Keith wondering if he’ll ever find something to give Shiro. 

No. He’ll find something. He just has to try harder. 

___________________________________

He’s still at a loss a few days later, distant and distracted at lunch with Shiro.

“Is your food that bad?” Shiro asks. 

“It’s fine,” Keith says. Keith can’t even taste it. His fork shrieks a little as it scrapes against the plate. 

“You sure about that?” Shiro pushes his own plate to the side and pries the fork out of Keith’s hands, setting it gently on the table. “You seem a little tense.” 

“Just. You know. Stuff.” 

“Stuff,” Shiro says, eyebrow raised. “The kind of stuff I should know about?”

Keith flinches. He’s never been a good liar, and Shiro has a skeleton key to all his defenses, anyway. “You will—eventually.”

Shiro doesn’t look completely pacified by that , but he still squeezes Keith’s hand and says, “Okay. Well. When you’re ready to tell me about it, I’ll be here.” 

“I know,” Keith says.

“Okay,” Shiro says. But he’s still frowning. 

_ Okay. _

“So. How was your day?” Keith asks. 

_ I just want you.  _

How do you even give yourself as a gift?

___________________________________

With sex, apparently. 

“Keith. God.” Shiro pants as Keith topples to the mattress beside him. He’s wrung out and buzzing from his latest orgasm. Shiro looks even more exhausted—which was exactly the plan. Keith gave Shiro himself and then gave Shiro himself again and again and again. He made sure they’d beat their previous record. By a lot. 

Yeah, Keith totally won.

“Just ‘Keith’ is fine.”

“Wow, Keith, really?”

“Guess your terrible sense of humor  _ rubbed off _ on me.”

“ _ Keith. _ ” 

“Like you wouldn’t have made the same joke.”

“Brat,“ Shiro says, because he knows Keith is right.  

“Need to catch your breath, old timer?” 

“I sure made you sweat just fine,” Shiro says.

“Mmm,” Keith says, shifting closer to Shiro’s side. 

“I’ve got something for you,” Shiro says, winding his arms around Keith’s waist and tucking Keith’s head under his chin. 

“Right now?”

“Just a second,” Shiro says. Keith whines a little as Shiro rolls out of bed and disappears into their shared wardrobe. Keith already misses him even as he admires the view. 

Shiro peeks out from behind the wardrobe door, lips curled like he’s got a secret tucked in the corner of his smile. 

He scurries into the room, trying to hide a shiny red object behind his back—but even as broad as he is, he’s naked so it’s not particularly successful. 

Keith muffles his laughter in his fist. 

“Got something there?” 

Shiro flushes but keeps moving closer. “Maybe.” 

“Can I see it?” 

“Maybe. It’s not quite putting mistletoe over my dick but I think you’ll still like it.”

Right. That reminds Keith he still needs to kill Lance for that festive suggestion.  

“Here.” Shiro thrusts the poorly wrapped package into Keith’s hands. Keith’s charmed. There’s nothing more adorable than Shiro allowing himself to do something badly; than Shiro showing Keith the least polished parts of himself.

“For me? You shouldn’t have,” Keith says. And it starts off as a joke but he distinctly remembers Shiro saying that a gift wasn’t necessary; that all Keith needed to give Shiro for the holidays was himself. 

_ Well. Fuck. _

_ fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. _

Keith had given Shiro himself, literally, and here Shiro was, giving Keith a gift because apparently Keith’s boyfriend is a lying liar who lies—to his face no less.

“Open it!” Shiro says, face rosy and flushed. 

Keith is mad, but Keith is also weak. Because it’s Shiro, and Shiro’s always been the exception. 

The wrapping comes apart easily and after just a few moments Keith’s fingers hit leather. Beautifully soft buttery  _ familiar  _ leather, worn by age and love.

_ It can’t be _ . 

But the last bit of wrapping paper falls away and, yeah, it  _ is.  _ It’s Shiro’s old jacket.

“Where did you even find this?”  

“Turns out that the Garrison kept some of my things in storage. It’ll fit you now,” Shiro pauses for a moment before continuing. “But even if it doesn’t—I wanted you to have it.” 

Keith slides out of bed, sheets pooling around his waist and then falling away from his body all together.

“Here.” Shiro holds the jacket out for Keith to slide on, like they’re leaving the restaurant at the end of a date instead of standing bare-assed in their bedroom with sex hair and come still smeared between Keith’s thighs. 

He slides the jacket on and it’s— 

“Perfect,” Shiro says, a little breathless.

“Yeah, the fit is good,” Keith says.

“That too, I guess.”

Keith only half hears it, so it takes him a moment to process before he turns bright red. “Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Shiro says, with his best innocent look, though in this case ‘best’ is relative. 

“Sure, okay,” Keith says, flopping back down on the bed and pulling the jacket tighter around him. 

“Are you going to wear that to bed?”

“If I do it’ll be your fault.” 

“I’m okay with that,” Shiro says with a shrug. Then he steps into the ensuite.

Keith turns to stare at the ceiling. The jacket somehow manages to feel both comforting and judgmental against his skin. He’s not sure how a piece of clothing can manage that, but it’s better than dealing with the reality that he shouldn’t have trusted Shiro’s advice about what to get himself.

_He gave me something from our shared history and I gave him…sex?_ _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He works himself free of the jacket, he’s almost tempted to fling it away from the bed

He loves the jacket—Keith’s the one who’s the problem. Keith and his shitty gift. His shitty, losing, not-even-close-to-good-enough gift. 

He jumps to his feet to put it away in the closet for now.

He has to think of something better. 

___________________________________

Something better requires him to sacrifice a little dignity, but he figures he’ll make it up in the end with Shiro’s next—his  _ actual _ gift.

He’ll make it up when he wins.

“So. Can you help?” Keith asks. He has to force it a little , but it’s not as hard as it used to be. Personal growth or whatever.

Iverson sighs. He leans down and Keith hears the sound of a drawer sliding open, of glass rattling around, and then the drawer sliding shut again. He fixes Keith with a look. “I’m only doing this because it’s Shirogane.” 

That’s fair. “Noted. Can you help me?” 

“Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you, yes.” 

It’s not a resounding agreement but Keith’ll take it. 

___________________________________

It takes a few evenings of avoiding Shiro to make it happen.

Keith uses Krolia’s rooms as his base. She’s not currently on planet but that doesn’t matter; what matters is the fact that literally everyone on planet—and probably most off of it—are terrified of crossing her. Which mean her rooms are the perfect place for Keith to keep his secrets.  

Also, Keith maybe, sort of wants to get her quarters ready for her before she arrives.

_ This’ll show Shiro how much I love him _ , Keith thinks as he keys in the code to their room. 

This time Keith will win. 

The door slides open and Keith leaves his boots next to the door as he pads towards the bedroom.

It’s mostly dark aside from the single lamp craning over Shiro’s side of the bed and the blue glow of his holopad, illuminating his face from below. 

“Keith?” Shiro looks so soft like this, inches from sleep, clad in his worn tank top and sweatpants. 

“Hey,” Keith says. He starts unbuttoning the jacket of his uniform. Shiro’s tablet screen goes dark and he sets it on the end table beside the bed. 

“No, stay there,” Keith says, struggling with the buttons.

Shiro doesn’t listen; he swings his legs over the side of the bed and staggers over.

“Shiro, I’ll be there in a second, you didn’t have to get up.” 

“Mmmmm,” Shiro says, but it’s not an agreement. He swats Keith’s hands aside and undoes the buttons of his coat, deft and nimble, without a hint of struggle. “Maybe I just wanted you in bed with me sooner.” 

Keith’s shoulders start to droop from the warmth of Shiro’s hands as Shiro helps him shrug his way out of his jacket, and then take off the rest of his clothes. 

Shiro leads him over to the bed and they lay down, facing one another. He tucks an errant strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. 

“Turn around,” Shiro says.

Keith turns, sighing at the feel of Shiro’s hands carding through his hair, untangling the strands, and sorting them into three neat sections before he weaves them into a braid. 

He rolls over the moment he feels Shiro work the tie around the bottom of the braid and runs a hand over the sharp line of Shiro’s cheekbone.

“I love you,” Keith says. It’s something he says often now, just because he can. 

“I love you, too.” Shiro says.

Keith leans in for a kiss, soft and chaste.

Tomorrow. This is all over tomorrow. 

Tomorrow he’ll be able to give Shiro the second part of his gift. 

God, he hopes Shiro likes it. He hopes it’s good enough. 

___________________________________

The next day dawns bright and sunny, heralded by a swarm of butterflies in Keith’s stomach. 

Shiro’s turned towards him, head tucked beneath Keith’s chin, face half burrowed into his chest. Like this, Keith can see how his face has gone slack with sleep, the little lines webbing the corners of his eyes, the little dried patch of skin on his nose because he got a sunburn the last time he and Keith went hiking a few days ago and he forgot to re-apply his sunscreen a couple hours in, after they’d found a hidden stream, stripped down to nothing, and splashed around in the shallows.

He watches Shiro’s eyes twitch beneath their lids, his mouth still slack in sleep. Then his eyes flutter open, and his gaze is still soft and a little glassy.

“Morning,” Keith says.

“Morning, baby,” Shiro says. 

“Hey, you,” Keith says, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head. “Sleep well?” 

“Mmm. Had a dream I woke up in the arms of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” 

“Stop,” Keith says. He’ll never understand how Shiro just  _ says _ things like that. 

“Make me.” 

Oh. It’s on. 

“If you insist,” Keith says. He slides out of bed and immediately regrets it. Their room is fucking  _ cold _ . A wave of chill washes over his skin as he scurries over to the couch. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Be back in a sec.”

Keith slides the leatherbound album out of his bag, runs his fingers over the cover and clutches it against his chest before he turns around and hurries back to the bed. 

“Keith?” Shiro props himself up on one elbow, the rumpled sheet pooling around his waist. There are scars latticed across his chest, and a frown pulling his mouth down at the corners. The sunlight streaming in through the small rectangular windows cut high into the wall lights Shiro’s hair up like a halo. It suits him. 

“You didn’t think I was done with your gift, did you?” 

_ You didn’t think I was just going to let you win _ ?

“You didn’t have to get me anything else.”

Except—even though he knows Shiro would deny it if Keith brought up their little…competition—Keith knows that he really really did. 

“You didn’t—”

“Shiro.”

“Okay.” Shiro holds up his hands in defeat.

“Here,” Keith says, placing the album in Shiro’s hands. He sits on the edge of the bed, and picks at a loose thread on the hem of the blanket. 

“How did you find these?” 

He sounds—off. Is he crying? Is that good? Is that bad? God, he’s going to have to think of another gift.  

“I had some help. Iverson. A couple other people.” 

“Keith. Thank you. I love it—I love  _ you _ .”

“Really?” Keith says, turning towards Shiro. He still doesn’t meet his eyes, keeps his gaze on Shiro’s chest instead, not that that’s such an awful compromise. 

“Really,” Shiro says, tilting his chin up for a kiss. “I don’t think I could imagine a better gift,” he adds, once they break apart.

_Good_ , Keith thinks.

That’s exactly what he was going for.

___________________________________

Shiro leads him outside, past the posts that mark the edges of the Garrison compound. There’s a sharp shine at the edge of the horizon, and Shiro’s pulling him straight towards it.

“Come on.”

“Shiro…” Keith says. He hangs back, as though getting too close will make the illusion dissipate. 

“Do you like it?” Shiro says, and god, that big idiot, he looks nervous somehow.

“You fixed our bikes,” Keith says.

“We haven’t gotten to spend much time together lately, and then you made me that photo album and all I did was give you my old jacket, so I thought—” Shiro shrugs, holding out two sets of keys.

“Shiro. Thank you,” Keith says. He leans in, kissing the smug look off of Shiro’s face.

It’s sweet and thoughtful and all Keith can think is  _ holy shit _ and also  _ shit, what the fuck now I need to think of a better gift.  _

_ Later _ , he tells himself, internally. 

“Bet I can still kick your ass,” Keith says. He snags the keys from Shiro’s hand and speeds away with a laugh before Shiro’s even had a chance to blink. 

“Keith!” Keith just barely hears Shiro call after him.

But Keith already knows that Shiro’s hot on his heels, ready to follow him wherever he goes. 

___________________________________

They get back to their room later that night, dusty and sunbaked, before showering and falling into bed together, tired and happy. Shiro braids Keith’s hair before he falls asleep. Keith is wide awake.

Keith can see Shiro’s face, beatific and slack in sleep. He’s the most important person in Keith’s life and Keith is failing at showing him just how much he loves him.

Shiro still managed to get Keith something better than what Keith got him. Unacceptable. 

It shouldn’t bother him this much. It really shouldn’t. But it  _ does _ . Love is turning him into a competitive asshole; a competitive asshole who can’t sleep. And he doesn’t think he’ll be able to, not until he thinks of something better—something good enough. 

Something that shows how much he sees Shiro as part of his life—past, present, and future.

_ Future. _

That’s it.

___________________________________

Keith gets his mom to help him with this one. Mostly because he trusts her. And also because  it  means finding some form of identification that’s not just the Black Lion. There’s a lot of time standing in line and a shit ton of paperwork that he wouldn’t do ordinarily, but when he walks out of the stately marble building with a folder under his arm, well, he knows that it’ll be worth it.

There’s no fucking way Shiro’s going to be able to top this. Not for the rest of their lives.

___________________________________

By the time Keith gets back, it’s late, and he can tell Shiro’s exhausted. It’s been another long day of running drills with the Atlas and its crew, and while Shiro never says as much, Keith can tell that the constant transformations take a lot out of him. 

It’s not ideal. It’s not the perfect set up. But it’s real and it’s what Keith wants to come home to for the rest of his life. 

Keith had plans for this. Had plans for them to spend the day together—a perfect day, just the two of them, maybe a day out in the desert together. Keith would kick Shiro’s ass in a hoverbike race, and they’d jump over the cliff together, egging one another on to see who could hit the bottom first before ending up at the shack. Maybe Keith would have a picnic set up there already. Maybe a fully—made bed, too. 

That’s not how it happens. 

Instead, Shiro’s staggering into their shared rooms, smiling but exhausted, eyes lit up just for Keith, and god, Keith knows it’s a little dumb for him to put this much effort into gifts when he’s already chosen to die with Shiro rather than live in a world without him in it, but that’s the thing. They’re at peace now. And more than anything, Keith wants to live _with_ Shiro, wants to have their past, present, and _future_ as things that they hold in their hands together. 

A future that, for most of his life, Keith knows Shiro never thought he’d have, no matter how much he tries to hide it. 

A future they’ll be able to share and shape together. 

Shiro flops down on the bed beside Keith, still in uniform. Keith rolls over and undoes the buttons around his collar. He drops a trail of kisses along the line of Shiro’s throat, just because he can, just because he wants to. It’s the kind of casual intimacy that he still marvels at, even after a year together : the way it feels new and novel even as it also feels like an extension of the soft, familiar hands on shoulders, of the hugs where he’d burrow his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck. 

“Mmmm. Nice,” Shiro murmurs, a little sleepy and incoherent. Keith’s not sure if it’s an effect of Atlas or Keith’s own affection.

They undress in a mirror image of the other day. Keith helps Shiro shrug out of his coat, strips him out of his clothes, and tosses them into the hamper before snagging the folder from his desk drawer and bringing it with him as he slides into bed. 

“Hey,” Keith says.

“Hey yourself,” Shiro says, smiling, soft and fond and sleepy. 

“How was your day?”

“Good. Long. Missed you.” 

Keith feels a bubble of fondness well up in his chest. Also a little bit of smug satisfaction. He’s totally going to win this. He knows he shouldn’t  _ want  _ to win this. Love’s not a competition. 

(Except that Keith is totally winning.)

“Missed you too,” he says, rolling over to get to his feet. 

“Keith, where are you going?” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back in just a second.” He grabs the folder from the closet and holds it behind his back. He hands it to Shiro, who forces himself to sit up to get a better look.

“What’s this?” Shiro says, already leafing through the pages. 

Keith sees him scanning the pages, sees when the truth of what these pages are hits him. 

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro says, and he sounds emotional and a little choked up. “You—”

“Yeah, it’s a long term savings account. I got you all of our money, combined _. _ And with a great interest rate. I know we’re not—whatever. But I wanted you to know that when I see my future—I just see you.”

Shiro looks up from the folder, eyes wet. “I see you too.”

“Good,” Keith says. He bumps his shoulder against Shiro’s and smoothes a thumb over his cheekbone before flashing him a small smile. “Now literally every gift is a joint gift and I win forever.” 

“What do you mean  _ win _ ?” Shiro says, trying for innocence and failing.

“Shiro. Come on,” Keith says. He leans in and places a finger under Shiro’s chin, tilting his head up so he has to meet Keith’s gaze. Shiro’s eyes are still a little red but he’s smiling. “You got me a gift after you told me not to get you one. And then  _ another  _ gift after that. You can’t challenge me like that and expect me not to notice.” 

“Guess you’re too sharp to fall for that.” 

“Mmhm. Got that right.” 

“God, I love you so much.” 

“But I love you more. Forever.”

Shiro leans in for a kiss, starting off chaste and ending up as anything but that by the time he pulls away. “You cheated though.” 

“Did I?  _ You _ could have gotten us a joint bank account. But you didn’t. I win.”

“Mmmm,” Shiro says, setting the folder to the side and pulling Keith down to the bed with him. “Guess I’ll just have to keep showing you how much I love you then.” He slides a hand under Keith’s shirt, edging towards the waistband of his boxers. 

“Guess so.”

**Author's Note:**

> many many thanks to sarah, robin, renee, jess, audrey, nuri, verity, for cheerleading and beta-ing! <3
> 
> [ tumblr](http://spookyfoot.tumblr.com) // [ twitter](http://twitter.com/spooky_foot).


End file.
